“Haven’t you heard about the accident?” he asked.

We all said “No.”

“The 4.15 ran into the express where the lines cross, you know.  Isobel, there were only two first-class carriages, and everybody in them was killed but one man.  They have taken both his legs off, and he’s not expected to live.  Oh, poor fellow, he did groan so!”

Bobby burst into passionate tears, and Philip buried his head on his arms.

Neither Alice nor I could speak, but Charles got up and went round and stood by Philip.

“You’ve been helping,” he said emphatically, “I know you have.  You’re a good fellow, Philip, and I beg your pardon for saucing you.  I am going to forget about the football too.  I was going to have eaten raw meat, and dumb-belled, to make myself strong enough to thrash you,” added Charles remorsefully.

“Eat a butcher’s shop full, if you like,” replied Philip with contempt.  And I think it showed that Charles was beginning to practise forbearance, that he made no reply.

* * * * *

Some years have passed since those Twelfth Night theatricals.  The Dragon has long been dissolved into his component scales, and we never have impromptu performances now.  The passing fame which a terrible railway accident gave to our insignificant station has also faded.  But it set a seal on our good resolutions which I may honestly say has not been lightly broken.

There, on the very spot where I had almost resolved never to forgive Philip, never to try to heal the miserable wounds of the family peace, I learned the news of the accident in which he might have been killed.  Philip says that if anything could make him behave better to me it is the thought that I saved his life, as he calls it.  But if anything could help me to be good to him, surely it must be the remembrance of how nearly I did not save him.

I put Alice on an equality in our bedroom that night, and gave her part-ownership of the text and the picture.  We are very happy together.

We have all tried to improve, and I think I may say we have been fairly successful.

More than once I have heard (one does hear many things people say behind one’s back) that new acquaintances—­people who have only known us lately—­have expressed astonishment, not unmixed with a generous indignation, on hearing that we were ever described by our friends as—­A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY.

OUR FIELD.

    Though nothing can bring back the hour
    Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
    We will grieve not, rather find
    Strength in what remains behind,
    In the primal sympathy
    Which, having been, must ever be.

* * * * *

    And, O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves,
    Think not of any severing of our loves! 
    Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;